


Making Plans

by MonPetitTresor



Series: Changing the Past [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Azazel - Freeform, Crying, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Fem!Sam, Hurt Sam, Loki Has Issues, Making Plans, Marks, Mating Bond, Mentions of the Apocalypse, Sam Needs A Hug, Time Travel, mentions of lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonPetitTresor/pseuds/MonPetitTresor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Sam's left Stanford, it's time to make some plans...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam drove for hours and hours before she stopped for the first time. She wasn’t even sure of the name of the city; didn’t care, really. She’d already seen the Goodwill in the distance and a few other things that would help. Right now what was important was finding the places she needed to stock up on a few supplies. A look in her go-bag had already showed that she had a couple hundred dollars’ worth of emergency cash to get her by. Budgeted right, it’d get her a motel for the night, a bit of supplies, some food, and a few new pieces of clothing. Because the stuff in the bag didn’t look like it was going to be quite the right size. _When was the last time I looked in this thing? When I first got to Stanford?_

Goodwill was her first stop. Being raised the way she’d been meant that she was damn good at being able to shop on a budget. Plus, she’d already set aside a hundred bucks to take out to the bar and turn into better cash later on. Once she got enough hustled, she could get herself a laptop, and getting money after that would be easy.

It took a few tries in the store to find out what her size was. She had to grab things that looked close enough and then try them on in the fitting room before she finally found what her size was. Unfortunately, she ran into the same problem here that she had back in her time, and that was finding jeans and a coat that were long enough for her. However, she also had a _new_ problem, and that was finding herself a shirt that didn’t either cut down low enough to show her rather impressive cleavage, or up high enough to show most of her stomach every time she _breathed_.

In the end she found only two tops in the women’s section that would work out for her. It would seem tall women had just as much trouble shopping at second-hand stores as tall men did. The other three shirts she grabbed were from the men’s section. They were baggy, but she could tie them off the way she’d seen girls do before.

She stood for a long moment in the men’s section and fingered the sleeve of a long-sleeved plaid shirt. Memories from this Sam cropped up; all the clothes she’d had, the castoffs from her brother. Wearing band tees and too-big flannels that never felt quite right, but always smelled like Dean no matter how long she wore them, and that made it okay. She closed her eyes and could see clear as day a memory where she curled up in bed in one of her brother’s flannels and let the feel and scent of it calm her while she waited for Dad and Dean to get back from the werewolf hunt they were on. In the memory she couldn’t have been more than eleven.

The shirt ended up in her cart. As did two pairs of jeans and a pair of almost biker looking boots that looked sturdy enough to handle the job while still comfortable enough to run in. They came up to mid-calf and had buckles on the side. The last thing she found was pure luck – a coat that was big without being too big, just perfect to hide the weapons she’d need to carry. The sleeves were just a tad short but she was used to that.

From there it was easy to get to a motel. She found one just down the street that was low priced enough it wouldn’t break the bank. She could only afford one night, of course, but hopefully by tomorrow she’d have enough to be able to get a better place. Or maybe at least know where it was she was heading.

It was only once she had her stuff inside and the room warded that she finally just _stopped_ for a minute. The instant she did, her earlier grief came crashing down on her, almost sending her to her knees.

 _I can’t do this._ The words ached to tumble past her lips though there was no one there to hear them. She closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists at her sides. _Gabriel, I can’t do this. You shouldn’t have sent me. You should’ve sent yourself. I’m not… I’m not strong enough for this. Not without you._

 _You’re the strongest person I know, Sammy_. The words drifted up from Sam’s memory, the whisper of Gabriel’s voice just a shadow of what she truly wanted.

Tears burned in her eyes and a lump built in her throat. Though she knew the voice was just in her head, she couldn’t stop herself from responding to it just as she had every time before. _No, I’m not_.

_You are. You’re so strong, Samshine. The strongest human I know. Even when things were at their worst, you survived. You were manipulated and pushed into making mistakes that, in the end, weren’t even really your fault, and you still gave your everything to fix them. You survived the apocalypse, you survived my brothers – if you can live through all that, you can live through anything. I know you can._

Gabriel had believed in her. Maybe once, he hadn’t. During the apocalypse he hadn’t believed that they could stop things. But he hadn’t known them, either. Not as well as he did later. And in the end, he’d put his belief in her and Dean, giving the two the only available option to stop Lucifer. He’d given them the key to opening the Cage and trusted in them to fix it. This – all of this – wasn’t any different. Gabriel had provided her with the way to make things right and fix the mistakes that she’d made. Only this time, instead of telling her how to get a key, she _was_ the key. She was the only thing that was going to be able to stop everything from happening all over again.

Unconsciously she slipped her hand down to her hip where the comforting feel of that handprint had always sat. Her fingers slipped underneath her clothes and immediately found the mark. Though it hadn’t hurt since that first week, when it’d been forced to heal slowly on its own, she’d always been able to feel it. Flesh that was a slightly different texture than the rest of her skin and looked more like a tattoo than anything else. Apparently Gabriel had used more control than Castiel had with Dean, so Sam’s was less of a burn and more of a true _mark_. When Gabriel touched it, the bond opened wide between them, emotion flying back and forth in their most pure form.

Sam didn’t even think anything of it as she ran her fingers soothingly over the mark on her skin. Not at first. Not until the realization hit here with the fore of a two-by-four.

The mark was there. The mark that she had grown so used to seeing, the one that was as much a part of her as her hair or her eyes or anything else – and the one that was now nothing more than just that, a mark. There was no bond tied to it anymore. No link to the being she loved. It was just a mark on her skin.

That was the moment when the composure that Sam had held on to since she’d first pulled herself together finally came crashing down. Literally.

The pain of her knees hitting the ground didn’t even register. She dropped down to the ground and curled her body into a small ball as her hand clenched down tightly on her hip, over the mark that didn’t mean anything anymore. It had no purpose except to exist as a memorial to the love she’d lost and would never have back again. The first sob tore free past her lips and shook her body. _Gabriel_! Her soul screamed it, begging and pleading with a pain that couldn’t be described. Another sob broke free and she dropped her forehead to the carpet and let it all flow. _Gabriel!_

* * *

Far away, an archangel in hiding was stopped in his tracks as he felt a wave of emotion screaming through the grace he’d mostly ignored. The sheer _agony_ of it was enough to stop him and almost drop him. If he hadn’t had centuries of practice at controlling himself and keeping his grace hidden, it would’ve poured out of him in immediate response to that pain. As it was he could barely control the urge to take flight right then and there and find the source of so much pain.

The part of him that was still an archangel, the part that hadn’t been buried underneath layers of trickster, of blood and vengeance and fear, demanded he leave right that instant. Fly far and wide and find out who on Dad’s earth was screaming his name with so much pain and grief and loss. It wasn’t a plea for help that he was hearing. Nor was it a traditional prayer. This was pain in its rawest form. Pain that was directed all towards _him_.

 _Not me_ , he thought savagely to himself, shoving down the cries as far as he could, pushing pagan power against grace in an effort to drown it out once more. _That’s not me anymore. I’m not him. Not ever again_.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you all right?”

When he lifted his head, not having even realized that he’d stopped right there in the middle of the long hallway, it was the smile of the trickster that twisted his lips. Any hint of grace was shoved down deep inside where it’d been buried for so long. He wasn’t that being anymore. He was Loki, trickster extraordinaire. And his target was standing right there in front of him with an innocent smile on his face that hid the darkness Loki knew rested inside.

The being that had once been an archangel took pleasure in the screams of his victim when he finally had him inside of his trap.

No matter how loud they got, they couldn’t quite drown out the echo of those other screams that still played through his grace, even if that prayer had long since gone silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot of Sam's thoughts as she's preparing. I know it's slow but I promise things will start to pick up once she gets going on things. :) Anything you'd like to see, any requests you have, please feel free to let me know on here, or you can come find me on tumblr as thequeervet :D

Sam rubbed a hand over her face and tried to clear her head. After last night’s ‘freak out’, she’d somehow managed to drag herself up into bed and eventually get some sleep. It’d ruined her plans for going and earning a bit more money and that meant she either slept on the ground tonight or used some of her food money to get the room for one more night while hopefully earning a bit more hustling to get her through a little while longer. Running off of poor sleep and no real food wasn’t exactly something she was unfamiliar with but that didn’t make it any easier. Especially for this body, which was still used to the soft way she’d been at Stanford.

Luckily, the room at least came with complimentary – albeit _bad_ – coffee. That kept her going through the day enough that, after spending her morning trying to work out and adjust to this strange new body she found herself in – one that she was finding startlingly easy to use, what with the way she seemed able to draw on this body’s memories – she was able to finally sit down at what should’ve been lunch time and start to actually think again.

It was time to start thinking about what it was that she needed to do. Planning and research had always been something Sam was good at. Planning for the hunt, that was Dean’s area of expertise. Gathering information and building a basic plan of attack, or trying to find a way to _prevent_ fighting, _that_ had always been Sam’s area of expertise. She put those skills to use now.

First things first she needed to make a list. Take everything that was in her head, everything she needed to do or stop, and lay it all out on paper. Looking at it all written down would help her prioritize and start to plan what to do to stop things. So she grabbed the complimentary pen and notepad that even the crappiest of motel rooms came with and she settled herself down onto her bed with the notepad on her thighs, her legs pressed together and knees up just enough to make a small table for her. Then she leaned back against the pillow behind her and started to make her list.

The first thing that went on there was the most obvious one of all. _Get anti-possession tattoo_

That was the very first thing she wanted to get done once she got some money together. It was something she’d noticed in the shower this morning when she’d been looking to see if any other marks aside from the handprint had made it over. No scars had been there, at least not any that she hadn’t had back in her Stanford time, and not a single tattoo had made it over. She had no tattoos, no protection – and most likely no sigils on her ribs, either. That had prompted a brief, much calmer freak-out than her one the night before. This was the most exposed she’d been since before Lucifer was set free. Thinking about that, and about what could happen, made her feel sick. She’d immediately resolved to find the closest tattoo parlor as soon as she was done here.

For the moment she had to be satisfied with that. She was in a warded room and safe right now. Best to finish the list of things and see what else had to be done.

_Stop Apocalypse_

Yeah, that was going to be easier said than done. There was quite a bit that she needed to do to figure out how to do that. Details could come later, though. Right now she just needed to figure out everything that she had to do. But, stopping to think about it, she realized something simple. If she could stop the apocalypse, she could stop a lot of other things from happening after that. The time she’d spent soulless, purgatory opening, the Trials, the angels falling – none of that would happen if the apocalypse didn’t happen.

Okay, so, apparently ‘Stop Apocalypse’ was her main goal. Sam took a moment to underline it twice before moving on.

_Get Colt_

_Kill Azazel_

_Get in bunker_

_Research Enochian warding_

_Warn angels about Metatron_

_Kill/Cure Crowley?_

It was a hell of a list. She looked down at it and chewed on her bottom lip as she read everything over. This was just a basic list of things that needed done. There was so much more that she could put down as she went more in depth. Cases that she and Dean had solved in her timeline that she might be able to stop in this one. She needed to get all that down quickly just in case she needed up somehow forgetting about it all. Who knew what this time travel was going to do to her or how long she’d be able to retain her memories.

Out of the things on the list it wasn’t hard to figure out which needed to be taken care of first, though.

Find the Colt – and kill Azazel.

That bastard was the first and most immediate of threats that needed to be dealt with. If she could get the Colt, she could set a trap for him, summon him, and then shoot the bastard before he could hurt anyone else. Before he could try and hurt Jess, or Dean, or John. By killing him ahead of schedule, there were plenty of lives that Sam could save. So many people who would still be alive with Azazel out of the picture.

It only took a moment of thought for her to remember where they’d gotten the Colt from last time. Daniel Elkins – one of Dad’s old friends. He’d had it for a while, too, it seemed. All Sam had to do was get there and get the Colt from him somehow and she’d be one step closer to stopping Azazel. From there, it’d be an easy thing to trap him with the kinds of traps they’d learned in their time. Trap him, summon him, trick him even if she had to. Anything to get him there. Then, shoot him.

There was going to be quite a backlash from it. Sam wasn’t stupid; she knew things would go a little crazy once Azazel was dead. There were quite a few factions that were going to freak out at the idea that their plans were being ruined. Demons and angels alike would take notice. She was going to have to be prepared for that. The Colt would only get her so far in keeping safe. As painful as the idea was, she’d have to use it against any angel that came her way, at least until she could get her hands on an angel blade. Blades had always been her preference and having one would make things a whole lot easier. Especially since she didn’t have Ruby’s knife anymore.

 _Ruby_. That made Sam want to sneer. She was definitely one bitch that Sam wouldn’t be afraid to stab if she ever dared come topside.

However, there was another demon that Sam knew she had to think about. One that was probably already topside and who would want to find her. One who had been an enemy and yet an almost-friend once or twice in their time knowing her. Meg. The Meg that Sam had come to almost like at the end, the one who’d flirted so much with Castiel, had been a changed demon from the one that they’d first met. However, the idea of killing her made Sam feel slightly nauseous. Hadn’t she killed enough? Better to trap her and cure her. Sure, she’d still probably be _bad_ , but she wouldn’t be _evil_. She could find some kind of redemption.

When they’d first met her, she’d ended up killing a few important people. Caleb, Pastor Jim. This Meg hadn’t done that yet. If Sam could deal with her, she could save those lives as well.

Sam closed her eyes and let out a gusty sigh before dropping her head down. Her forehead rested against the notebook.

There were so many things that needed doing and she was the only one right now who was capable of doing it. Even if she wanted to involve her family – which she very much did _not_ – there was every chance that they wouldn’t believe her story. Time traveling from the future? Sam knew she wouldn’t have believed it if she were in their shoes. Not at this point in life. Later, after meeting angels, yeah, she would’ve, but not this far back. Not with as innocent as she’d been. As they’d all been. They’d all thought they were so jaded, so devoid of any remaining innocence. They hadn’t had any idea of what lay ahead of them.

“You can do this.” Sam told herself. She took a deep breath and opened up her eyes, staring at the paper directly in front of her face. “You tracked down the trickster all on your own. You’ve hunted on your own plenty of times. You can _do this_.”

Somehow, the little motivational speech didn’t exactly help all that much. _Surprise, surprise_.

Closing her eyes and drawing in a breath, Sam tried to steady herself. She imagined what Gabriel would say if he were here right now. How he’d poke and prod at her until she was laughing, no matter how reluctantly. How he’d boost her up in that way of his that was half humor, half mockery, and yet completely supportive. He’d challenge her and make it almost like a dare, until pride demanded that she go out there and prove that she _could_ do it.

She imagined what Dean would say. How he’d tell her not to be stupid, and to go get help, and yet he’d probably also be the first to tell her that she could do this.

When Sam opened her eyes again, she felt just a bit steadier. She could do this. She _could_. She had a list in front of her of things that needed to be done. It was time to start getting them done. First and foremost – she needed to get cash. To do that, she needed to take what little money she had and go out and earn more in the tried and true Winchester methods.

Memories from both timelines helped Sam to get herself ready. Going out to hustle like this wasn’t going to be as easy as doing it when she was a _he_. There were more opportunities – not many men seemed to think a pretty girl capable of husting, her memories told her, and would often underestimate her and assume she couldn’t play well if she played off being ditzy enough – but there were more risks as well. A whole lot more risks.

She dressed carefully, putting on the best pair of jeans from her bag. They were a little worn, a bit tight in the perfect places, and yet roomy enough to move quickly in if need be. The floral tank top she pulled out was one that her memories told her she’d bought because it showed just enough cleavage to entice while also giving her a slightly vulnerable look that made her seem like less of a threat than she really was. Pulling her hair up in a messy bun kind of added to that look. No one ever suspected the knife hooked to the inside of her belt right at her back, or the knife that she tucked down into her boot. Sam checked them over, glad at least that the Sam in this timeline had kept a _few_ weapons, even if they weren’t great ones.

Once she was ready she made sure to slide her money and ID down into her bra. There was a vague memory in her head of Dean blushing as he told her “It’s the best way to hide it, Sam. People might pick your pocket without you knowing, but they won’t pick _there_ without you noticing it.”

Sam took one last look in the mirror before she left. She stood there for a moment and just stared at herself, still marveling at how different this all was. It was so… strange. To look at herself and have part of her feel normal, like this had always been her face, while the other part of her still felt so at odds not seeing the masculine version. How long was it going to take before she became comfortable like this? Granted, she’d only been here days now, but she really hoped it would happen soon. That the different memories would feel less and less weird to her.

Shaking off those thoughts, Sam shook her head as well, like somehow that would help. “Time to get to work.” She murmured to herself.

Motel key in hand, Sam set out from the room. It was time to go make some money so she could get started on what was really important.


End file.
